Jourdan Mathews has a secret, and she knows she needs to take this one to the grave.
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Her life was never complicated: a college student with a close family, good friends, and a plan for her future as a doctor. Had that night had never happened...
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Needless to say, the double date was a success. In more ways than one if you ask me because not only did Tristan make progress with Andee but I also seemed to get Jourdan to trust me just a bit more than she did before. I knew I was playing with fire the second my chest tightened up with an unfamiliar emotion when I realized she'd fallen asleep against me last night.
It's something that's been on my mind since, the urge to pull her closer and keep my arms wrapped around her. Somehow keeping her safe from all the pain I'd accidentally caused her to relive last night. I felt a bit guilty about that too, I'm no stranger to death and the way it cuts up your life.
I might have been young when my mom died, but that doesn't change the way losing her still finds its way into all the corners of my mind. The way that pain will live with me forever. But it made me better able to understand Jourdan last night, and part of me wonders if she could sense it. If that's why she shared so much with me.
I spend Friday in a bit of a trance, trying to shake the feeling I'd picked up on the night before. The feeling that told me it probably should have occurred to me that after all these years maybe I am more than just sexually attracted to her. But now that we're building a friendship I wonder if I'm getting into something that I won't have a way out of once she rejects me again.
So, despite trying to distract myself with training, and class, I still find myself feeling a bit off Saturday morning, more unfocused than I'd like to be as I sit in Coach Devon's office. We're meeting to discuss my plan today, which mainly consists of increasing my training and practice time, both with the team and on my own time.
"You're seeing the doctor right after this right?" Coach's voice interrupts my thoughts, and that's when I realize I've been zoned out, staring at the trophies behind his desk on an ornate bookshelf.
"Uh, yeah," I nod, shrugging my left shoulder up and down absentmindedly.
"Good," he nods, turning back to his laptop. "I don't want that old injury fucking anything up for you. Not now that we're so close to the draft."
"I know," I agree. He's referring to when I'd torn my rotator cuff last December. At the time, he was angry, both for me and at me because I'd been dealing with an increasing amount of pain in my left arm but I'd kept playing. Kept lifting weights, training, and doing other activities that weren't smart. Now I'm careful, making sure I don't strain it and that I see Doctor Tanner in the Athletic Center for some physical therapy.
"You're initial report card came in too from the first few weeks of the semester," he continues. "Glad to see that I won't be benching you anytime soon."
"Thanks Coach," I laugh, shaking my head. I also knew how important my grades are to my dreams of playing for the NBA. Getting a business degree also wouldn't hurt for when I'd eventually have to retire from playing. "Trust me, I won't give you a reason to bench me all season. I can promise you that."
